We Get On
by garyprestons
Summary: She figures if she'd been willing to sleep with him then, no strings attached, she can most certainly sleep with him now with all kinds of strings attached, because Gary Preston is in love with her.


Miranda's not the type of girl to hop into bed with just anyone. Well, when Gary had suggested they sleep together just to see what happened, she had immediately tried to remember if she'd made her bed before leaving for work. (Never.) And she figures if she'd been willing to sleep with him then, no strings attached, she can most certainly sleep with him now with all kinds of strings attached, because Gary Preston is in love with her, and she's in love with him. She's always been, but he's just said it to her, and it's not a dream or a hallucination.

She's only been waiting for this moment since, oh, the first time she ever laid eyes upon him?

And she's not sure if it's because the lights are low in the flat as they sit on the sofa, or if he's having a bit of an episode, because his pupils are dilated and dark and she can't look away. Even if she's incredibly nervous and awkward and giggly and still in a bit of a shock that this is actually happening. Her lips still tingle from when he'd kissed her, her skin still feels warm from where he'd held her as he kissed her thoroughly and until neither had the breath left.

She remembers how they couldn't do anything but laugh afterward, because it had been incredible, long overdue, and overly complicated for what it was, for what they'd each always known but had never told one another. And with it came such a maelstrom of emotions that Miranda felt like her heart might actually burst out of her chest, but in a good way. Less gory.

But back to Gary, and how they're sitting close to one another, his hand on the small of her back and the other absently brushing her hair away from her cheek. She can feel his fingertips barely grazing against her skin, and she wants more. She leans into his hand with a smile, watches how his expression shifts into one of adoration and that same wonder she's feeling. That this is real, that this is happening, and the train is about to leave the station and neither are getting off.

(Well, not yet anyway. Naughty!)

For the moment, however, Miranda is perfectly content to continue kissing him. She notices that he's moved his hand from her back onto her hip, his hand warm through the fabric of her trousers and she imagines what it would feel like against her bare skin. She's not surprised that he's so warm; he's always had a warm personality, just lovely, and so it makes sense that one would also have a warm body.

She giggles at her own joke, and feels his lips curve upward into a smile against hers. When her eyes slowly flutter open, that look is back in his and Miranda knows that he wants her. Not her love, because he now has it. Not her heart, because he's always had her heart, and now that they're together she trusts him with it. No, he wants all of her, and if he thinks she doesn't want the same, so badly, then he really is crazy.

"So, um," he breaks the silence, his voice quiet, rough from disuse for the last hour, and with just a tinge of huskiness that sends a thrill right up her spine. "Where exactly do we go from here?"

"Immediate response to that question would be 50 paces to the left — your right, my left, but really, I'm easy. Sorry, let me rephrase: literally anywhere."

Gary turns his head towards the door to her bedroom, and Miranda feels his hand on her hip tighten just so, sees him grin, that wonderful smile that makes her heart race and feel like she might faint. And, in several cases, she may have actually swooned off of a bar stool. But he's holding her steady, so even if she falls he'd catch her. Or fall rather spectacularly along with her. Yes, the sooner they move this to a more horizontal position, the less precarious it'll be.

"Really? Coz, I mean I know we were gonna try this back when things were a mess, and you know we don't have to do anything if you're-"

"Clothes off," she interrupts him bossily, and he laughs, shakes his head, and grabs her hand to pull her upright along with him.

Her bedroom is mercifully on the tidy side, although she still hasn't made her bed, and tries to smooth down the duvet before they sit down on the edge of it, still holding hands and their knees bumping gently for a moment.

She surprises herself when she makes the first move, angling her body towards his and holding onto his shoulder as she leans in and presses her mouth to his, kissing him slowly until she feels him respond, his lips parting slightly against hers to capture her bottom lip. It's quite possibly the best kiss she's ever had, because as things deepen, she feels his hands move between them to the buttons on her blouse. There's no hesitation from either one of them. It's heavenly, really.

It's off, finally, and the cool air of the bedroom hits her exposed skin and immediately his hand is smoothing over her skin, and she's got gooseflesh but it's not from the chill. His hand slides along her spine and the feelings it elicits are absolutely arousal. Because he's held her hand and touched her bare arm in summer and she knows exactly what it feels like to have him touch her, but not like this, not on places that are normally covered by her clothes.

She wants that feeling everywhere.

His shirt has far too many buttons. And they're tiny and her hands are clumsy and wouldn't be erotic if she just ripped it off of him? It's a nice shirt though, crisp cotton that's only slightly wrinkled from where she's been holding onto it tonight, and really it looks lovely on him. She tries to steady her hands, and when the last button is free she raises them both in the air in victory for a moment and then frowns.

"_Layers_, Gary? Really?" she scolds him gently, and tugs at his undershirt until he pulls it off over his head and adds it to the pile of clothes on the floor beside her bed, and Miranda knows she's ogling him but she doesn't care. She has a half-starkers Gary sitting on her bed, in her bedroom, and this is not a figment of her overactive imagination, this is actually happening.

She presses her hands against his bare chest, quickly checking. Just to be sure. She feels his heartbeat under her right hand, strong and steady but just as quick as her own, and she's instantly comforted. Whatever she's feeling right now, he's feeling the same and they're in this together.

"Pinch me," she says suddenly.

"What?" he asks, confused, his hand still slowly moving over her naked back.

"Just do it!"

Gary kisses her instead, cupping her cheek in his hand and Miranda forgets what she's just asked, forgets about everything, except his mouth and his breath and his hands on her, driving her absolutely mad with desire. And she knows, finally knows, that this is absolutely real. Her dreams are never this vivid, this solid, this complete.

A sharp pain on her bum makes her gasp in surprise and she breaks the kiss, twisting around to look down at his hand on her bottom, then back to the cheeky grin on his adorable face.

"You didn't say where," Gary points out, and she smacks him gently on the chest, still rather giggly.

In the next instant, they're tumbling down onto her bed together, not even bothering to pull the duvet back. She's underneath him, feeling every part of him pressed against her body. Every time he takes a breath, she feels it against her own chest. They're in perfect synch with one another, and it's wholly satisfying to finally be on the same page as him after going back and forth for so long.

Her hand slides into his hair, pulling his head back down to hers for another kiss, which he happily obliges. She'll never get tired of kissing him, although he quickly moves from kissing her mouth to kissing other parts – along her jaw, a very nice spot below her ear that she didn't know she enjoyed so much, her neck...

She can't really do much of anything except react to him, fingers threading in his hair; she rather misses his curls but really she's happy with any version of Gary in her bed. He's currently busy kissing along one of her collarbones, which she's never considered a particularly erogenous zone but the stubble on his jaw rubs against her skin in the most delicious way as he kisses over her, and it's producing _very_ positive results.

Trousers are the next thing to be sorted; it's all more fiddly little buttons and when she reaches for the zipper on his jeans, she feels him push against her hand and she lets out a tiny squeak of surprise. She's been so focused on how incredible he makes her feel that she hasn't quite realized that she's obviously doing the same to him. Emboldened, she yanks his jeans down over his hips and gives him a saucy look, quite pleased with herself.

He does the same for her, although he's at a disadvantage because he has to do it one-handed, his other arm braced against the mattress for balance. She decides payback would be rather enjoyable at this point, and gives him a pinch of her own. He loses his balance and pins her to the bed under him, their noses colliding and Miranda's laughter in his ear.

"Need a hand?"

"You're impossible."

"No, apparently buttons are!"

Between the two of them they get her trousers off, and she's immediately glad she wore nice knickers, and they actually match her bra. She's had to buy new underthings since apparently washing one's intimates in a dishwasher isn't recommended. Stevie and Tilly dragged her to one of those nicer lingerie stores where everything is lacey and frilly and at the time, she didn't see the appeal.

But now she's down to her underthings, and Gary's looking at her and taking it all in – every little bit of lace. His hand smooths over the curve of her hip, and she doesn't even care that there's a light on in the bedroom, the lamp on her bedside table casting its glow over both of them, because he's the only person she'd be this comfortable with. That she'd do this with.

(Because no, things with Michael had never gotten to this point, she reminds herself. Gary's the first in a very, very, very-practically caveman painting on walls-very long time.)

So she doesn't mind at all that he's quite blatantly checking her out. Minds even less when he slides his hand underneath her back to unfasten her bra – or try to. It takes a few attempts, and when he finally pulls it off to get his first real look at her, the look of triumph in his eyes is replaced by want, and he leans down to kiss her passionately. Swallows her gasp when his hand cups her breast, his bare chest pressed to hers with nothing between them, how he's so strong and warm in her arms and yet he explores her with a gentle tentativeness that gives away just how much this is affecting him.

She's dimly aware that they've stopped talking at this point. Mainly because they're kissing, teeth and tongues busy communicating with ways other than words. When she's left properly breathless and gasping for air, she feels his fingers drift down over her ribs and abdomen to her knickers, and her heart is now racing at supersonic speeds because this is actually happening. The lead-up has been fantastic and exciting but she's suddenly very aware that he's about to see her _entire_ naked sweep up close and personal and in all its glory.

On the other hand, she gets to see his, too.

Suddenly he's not moving fast enough, and she helps him finish undressing her. Doesn't give him much of a chance to look before she's unceremoniously whipping off his pants, and this time when he presses back to her, the moan that's been caught in her throat for what feels like forever finally spills past her lips.

Well, she supposes that's rather erotic. But she still feels herself blush and claps a hand over her mouth for a moment.

He pulls her hand away so he can kiss her softly, and she can feel the tremble in his body.

"Hi," he whispers, his thumb rubbing across the back of her hand. "Okay, then?"

She nods once; she can't stop smiling and she's supposed to be sensual and alluring right now. But he's smiling at her too, and definitely alluring. "Better than okay. Absolutely no complaints about this," she murmurs in response, and his hand wraps around hers a little more tightly.

This time when they kiss, it's deeper, slower, fuelled by want and need and things she's only ever felt around him. And at the forefront, always first, is love. Because she's never loved anyone like this, so unconditionally and completely. And it's love that lets her give herself to him like this.

The kissing has distracted her from his wandering hand, which is once more tracing the path from her breasts down over her stomach, the dip of her navel, and even lower still, until she's gasping his name with each shallow breath that escapes her. And as much as she so desperately wants to feel him touch her everywhere, she wants him. Immediately.

"I love you, Miranda," he says against her lips, his breath warm and his voice shaking slightly. Whether it's from emotion or from being this close to her, she can't tell, and she likes both options so she drags her fingertips up his naked back to bury in his hair.

"I love you," she answers, and she'll never tire of saying it. She loves the way it sounds hanging in the air between them, loves how easily it rolls off of her tongue, loves the way he looks at her when she says it. And she knows that eventually, when you're with someone for long enough, you don't need to say it quite so much – it's just a fact. But Miranda wants to shout it from rooftops, that she's in love with Gary Preston.

That can wait, though. Right now she _really_ doesn't want to be interrupted.

They slide under the covers together, and she's about to suggest a cold-bed dance when she realizes they don't need it; Gary's quickly wrapped himself around her once more and he's like a lovely warm blanket, with the added bonus of kisses and other enjoyable things.

When he finally, slowly, gently enters her, she distracts herself from her own bubbling emotions by watching his face. The realization that they fit together perfectly is replaced by the amazement and the happiness, and oh God, this feels a little too good to be physically possible, is the last coherent thought she has before he presses his lips gently to her forehead. She feels his breath stir the hairs on the top of her head and for a moment she thinks he's going to say something, but instead he just settles down on top of her, taking a moment to look into her eyes, still grinning.

Her brain promptly stops functioning correctly at this point. No inner monologue (or worse, dialogue) narrates the events, all she needs to concentrate on is how it feels each time he pushes into her, his lips grazing her neck as he does, and her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, holding him close. She's sure Stevie or Tilly would call it all very vanilla, but it's Gary, and the only thing it could ever be is _perfect._

Though this is their first time together, it's not taking long at all to find a rhythm. They're not in any hurry to finish, and Miranda takes her time learning every inch of him. She quickly finds out that he likes it when she scratches at his back with her fingers, and he learns that she really likes that spot under her ear that he discovered earlier. And she really likes that she can hear him breathing her name against her skin and that he's coming undone right along with her.

She's been able to feel the spark low in her body ignite since he was first touching her, and now that they're onto the main event so to speak, it's moving to every part of her. Everywhere he touches, she feels warmth and fire and passion. Every time he moves within her, the tension coils within her just a bit tighter, like a spring. It's only then that his pace quickens and her nails scrape at his skin as gently as she can manage_. _She doesn't want the man to bleed, after all. Ending up at the hospital would be a rather disappointing finale.

When she feels like she's finally at the edge of the cliff, one foot over the edge and more than ready to fall with him, she grabs his hand and guides it to where she needs it; his fingers are trembling slightly but he remembers what she liked earlier and before long, she's crying out his name. And it's no longer vanilla, it's sexy and sensual and really, _really_ fun as she feels him come apart, feels herself crest along with him, her nails digging into his damp skin.

She can hear the blood rushing in her ears. She can feel his warm body on top of her, chest expanding against her as he struggles to catch his breath. Her own heart is galloping along at a nice clip, but the rest of her feels like she's sinking into a cloud when really it's just her pillow. She's not sure what time it is, or how long they just stay there, entwined, listening to the other's breathing. The only thing Miranda knows for certain is that she's never been as happy as she is right now.

She feels Gary exhale against her before she hears it, and she glances downward to see his eyes open, slightly unfocused but his gaze on her, and a rather sheepish grin on his face.

"So worth the years of sexual tension," Miranda sighs, satisfied, and he giggles against her and then pushes himself up off of her to kiss her gently. It's sweet and earnest and isn't quite so heart-stopping as his earlier kisses, but the sentiment it conveys is love and thanks and happiness.

"You're brilliant, you know," he tells her once he's laying down next to her, having turned off the lamp on the bedside table. Miranda's tucked against his chest, her head under his chin and her arm around his middle. It's all very lazy and quiet and very different than before. She doesn't think she'd be able to choose which she enjoys more if asked. They'll just need to have a few more goes at it before she can make an educated decision.

"I could fall asleep right now, but that'd be rude," she yawns against him. She feels his chest rumble with his quiet laughter. "We might have to do this in the morning instead."

"Yeah, that could work," he manages to get out, and kisses her on the top of her head. Her bedroom's dark, light from the streetlamps filtering through her curtains; she wishes she could see his face once more before she falls asleep. Another benefit to morning sex, she thinks, snickering quietly to herself.

"I love you." It slips out without her even having to think about it, and she feels foolish. "Sorry, right, I'm probably going to be saying that a lot."

"Come here," Gary replies quietly, and pulls her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her and smiling into her hair. "I love you, too. And you'll probably get tired of me telling you that all the time, but I don't care."

"We're going to just annoy one another to death now, aren't we?" she groans in mock-frustration. "Maybe we should just call the whole thing off before it gets worse."

"Never," he laughs. "That'd be the worst, Miranda." His hand gently tilts her chin up, bringing their faces in line so he can kiss her goodnight. "Night."

"Night," she says quietly, still able to feel his lips on hers. She can feel the excitement and the adrenaline of the day weighing down on her, sinking into the bed and into Gary. Falling asleep like this every night would be lovely, but for now, she's content to be falling asleep next to him like this tonight. Anything that happens after that is, frankly, a bit of a bonus.


End file.
